Reaping the Harvest
by Candace Marie
Summary: Mal's story. The story of Olivia and Malcolm's first son.
1. Prologue

A V.C. Fan Fiction

Reaping the Harvest

Malcolm Neal Foxworth Jr.'s Story

By: Candace M. Butler

Prologue: The Beginning

When I was young, I didn't know much about anything except money. The Foxworths had always had money. We lived in a mansion, called Foxworth Hall. Mother was from New Haven, Connecticut. Father had met her while he was on business. She had told me exactly how he looked. She said she only married Father because he was the only man taller than she. I never did find out why Father married Mother. Mother's name was Olivia Winfield Foxworth, and I, I was named after Father. Malcolm Neal Foxworth Jr., but everyone called me Mal. Mother and Father barely saw each other. I remember the day my grandmother came to Foxworth Hall with my grandfather. Father came into the nursery with Mother, where Joel and I played. He barely glanced at me, so I creened my little ears, while Joel beat on toys. I heard Father whisper, and I watched as his frost-blue eyes raked over the room. "Send a maid in here, Olivia, it's a disaster. When I was a child I was never permitted to keep my toys in such disarray," he told Mother. I looked over a Joel, who appeared to be trembling in Father's presence.

I was terrified myself, but curiosity overcame fear, as I ambled closer to Mother's soothing hands. Mother loved us both, but she never let me forget that I was her favorite. I scooted closer to Mother despite the sharp look Father gave me. He looked at Mother, and spoke, quietly, "Olivia, my father is returning home from Europe. He's bringing a bride with him," Mother looked at him, shocked. "Why didn't you tell me your father was married," she demanded. "Oh, you'll see Olivia. You'll understand soon enough," Father said angrily. I hated Father's angry tone, especially at Mother. "Malcolm, you're scaring the children," Mother said, as Joel began to cry. Father turned and glared at us, he was nearly screaming at us, "I'll do worse than that, if he isn't quiet when I speak, Olivia," Father said, when Joel began crying.

I turned and looked at him, full of fear, I choked back my tears, for I had known since I knew who Father was that he hated weakness in men. And little boys were little less than men. It was the same to him, children didn't exist to Father. "QUIET!" Father bellowed, glaring at me and Joel. It seemed to me that Father resented Joel's existence. "Oh, you'll see, Olivia, you'll see soon enough," he said and stormed out. I leaped into Mother's arms as soon as Father disappeared eager to be reassured. Mother sat down, and explained to me. "Daddy's Father, your grandfather, is coming home tonight. He's bringing his new wife with him," she said, with an eager smile. I was always very sensitive to her feelings.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

My uncle, My brother

I remember seeing my grandfather. His eyes appeared so much lighter than my father's. He had swept me into a bear hug, and I had stood there afraid of being punished. He had turned a sharp look on my father, but said nothing. I called my grandfather, 'Papa' and his new wife 'Granny.' She was very pretty and Mother towered over her. Granny was younger than my mother, but the fact I only realize when looking back. It was an extraordinary day, for it was from my grandparents that I learned what love was, and how a man was suppose to treat his wife. Mother and Granny were vastly different, though I don't doubt that they both loved me. I will never doubt that. Mother had auburn hair that she usually wore in a bun, so that Joel wouldn't pull it, I thought. He was always putting his teeth in everything, and if not his teeth, then his hands. Granny had long chestnut hair that she wore in long waves down her back. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I reached out and touched her hair, aware of the silkiness of it, and also aware of the grim look on my mother's face.

During the next few weeks, under Papa's and Granny's insistence we were allowed at the family table. Normally, Mother would feed us and then she would eat with Father. I tried carefully to eat the food. But the food needed to be cut up, and no matter how hard I tried, The food kept slipping out of the plate, leading Father to snort, loudly. He then went into a long, explanation of why children shouldn't be permitted at the table. I didn't really understand. All I understood was again, I had failed. Granny smiled at Father, "Well, my child will be permitted to eat with us, right Garland?" she asked Papa. He nodded and smiled touchingly. I looked up at Granny. "Where's the baby?" I asked, and Granny smiled at me and explained quickly. "Your father's going to have a brother or a sister, as handsome as you are, as handsome as your grandfather. I just love children, and you're going to be loved just as much. You and Joel will have someone knew to play with, very soon. One day Papa and Granny will go to the hospital and bring back someone for you to play with," she said in her voice, a voice full of sunshine and happiness. I nodded, trying to concentrate on the words, and not the feeling of loss. Someone was going to replace me. Yet, I looked over at Joel, who was stirring his corn and peas together. I hadn't been replaced when Joel had been born.

Father spoke softly, smiling a smile that reached his eyes when he looked at Granny. "It may be a girl. It would be nice to have a girl in the house, for a change," he said looking meaningful at mother. Mother stared at him, "We can't control God, Malcolm," she said and then the conversation changed to Father's mother Corrine. I wanted to go play, and soon Granny and Mother took us to the nursery and Granny sat down and began playing with us. It was funny to see her down on out level, playing as if she was a child, as well. Father wouldn't approve, I thought.

During the next few months, Father spent more time with Joel and I in the nursery watching granny. Granny would smile and tell him of our accomplishments which Father would belittle, and she would smile as if she was humoring him. Didn't she know who our Father was? Finally, one day, Father took me, and only me down to where he worked. He looked at me, sternly, and said, "Mal, one day this will all be yours." I looked around at the huge building, at all the servants who Father said worked for him. They weren't called servants but employees. And they all worked for Father. What if I didn't want all those people working for him? I wondered, although I didn't dare say it. "Mallory, this is my son Malcolm Neal Foxworth, Jr., Mal, this is my assistant Mallory," he said to the pretty blonde woman. She knelt down and patted my head, "He's as handsome as his father," she said in a maple sugary sweet voice. I wanted to spit on her, I didn't dare. And my thoughts proved correct. "Lucky for young Malcolm that he doesn't take after his mother. Why did you ever marry that woman?" she asked, and I too listened. Father never gave reasons for anything, and this time was no exception. "I had my reasons, Mallory," he said. "And please refrain from mentioning my wife, around my son," he said before our visit was cut short. He began talking about work, and I thought of the pretty piano Granny had bought me.

In the next few weeks, Granny disappeared and Father tried to explain more of the business to me. But he yelled so much, when I didn't understand, that he frightened me. Granny came home with a baby boy that they named after my grandfather Garland Christopher Foxworth the fourth, he was a christened. Granny said we would all call him Chris. He was a pretty baby, I had to admit. He was prettier than I remembered Joel being. Mother liked to hang around him, too. And I felt that despite Granny's promises, I had been replaced by Christopher. He never cried like Joel. Father glared at the baby furiously, Mother said he was worried about Papa's will. "What does Papa will?" I asked Mother. Mother smiled and tousled my hair as she explained, "It's his living will," she said. "It says who inherits this house, the business, everything," she explained. I nodded, and knew that Father would get it. Hadn't he told me the business would one day be mine, whether I wanted it or not, I thought bitterly. Granny had been right though, this boy who was indeed his half-uncle was like another brother. Chris had proved to be much brighter than his brother.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

My Judge

Up until the time I was six, Father had only to speak harshly to be obeyed. It was obvious that even though my grandparents had seniority over the house, it was my parents who were obeyed by the staff. If Granny said something to the staff, Mother would change it. She didn't like being questioned. More and more Papa spent time at home. And it became apparent that Father was jealous of the time Papa spent with Christopher.

One day I was playing the piano with Joel. Granny was excited. "Look, Olivia, look how talented your children are. They have extraordinary musical talent. I only hope Christopher become as talented," she gushed. Mother sat there silently watching, with a praised look in her face. Suddenly, Father came in the room, outraged. "MALCOLM," he yelled. I stopped playing, and Joel kept tapping the keys until I pressed his fingers tight. Father never spoke to us and his voice was angry as he spoke of how no son of his would play music. It was feminine, weak. He was going to whip, me I knew. I squared my shoulders, and lifted my jaw, blinking back tears as well as banishing fears. And I was very afraid of my father. Granny pleaded with Father, but it was no use. Mother was mad at her for pleading with me, I understood. Granny was not my mother, or my father.

I stepped into Father's office. "Close the door behind you, Mal," he said before he began. "Don't cry, Mal, don't you dare," he raged at me, as I struggled to blink back tears. "Music is unproductive. If you cry, I'll whip your brother too," he threatened me. There was no way I could cry. My throat felt ragged, with the effort it took to look Father in the eye, and to keep the tears from filling my eyes. "No son of mine will be involved in music. I despise musicians, Mal," he said, his eyes glaring blue ice at me. They clashed with my eyes, and I felt so small and weak, against his powerful gaze. "Not just musicians, but poets, artist, actors. They have no place in today's society. They live in dreams. And we have a future planned for you, Mal. Don't disappoint me again, Mal," he said to me. I was so afraid, my hands shook. "Drop your pants, son," he said. My hands shook as I clumsily reached for them. I didn't move fast enough so Father yanked them down and told me to bend over his desk. "Don't be insolent , Mal," he said. I stifled a sob when the whip first reached my bare bottom. After awhile I went numb, and it wasn't so bad, not so very unbearable. "I doubt you will forget that," Father said as he left the office.

I excited the room, forever hardened. Never again, would he hurt me. I would make him pay, I swore. I would have sworn a blood oath on that. Somehow, he would pay. I would make him pay. From the day I had been born, I had been a disappointment. Father would never accept as an equal. He would never accept me as the son he wanted. Nor, would he ever accept Joel either. Poor Joel, I thought. I had to be strong for him. Christopher was safe, his parents loved each other, I thought bitterly. It was Joel whom father said looked like a girl. Christopher had wonderful parents. I began wishing that Garland and Alicia were my parents. I had to be strong; Joel needed me to be strong for him. Garland always showed up with smiles and hugs and I wished that Father was like that. Instead of lighting up with life, Father's eyes snapped discipline and control. Instead of hugs, and smiles, Father's lips were set in a grim line and his hand ready to smack. My grandfather was much handsomer than father. And at times, with the light in his eyes he appeared younger than Father. How I wished Father would treat me the way Papa treated Christopher.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Four

Grandpa Goes Away

Christopher, Joel and I had become like Granny had said brothers. It seemed funny to think of Christopher as my uncle. After all, he was three years younger than me. How well I remember Christopher's third birthday. Granny was excited because Christopher was finally old enough to participate. Truthfully, I would have to say Christopher was more fun to be around than my brother. Father was always quick to point out that he wasn't a true Foxworth; he was only our half-uncle anyway. What fault he saw is Christopher I couldn't say. Even when Father was practically cruel, as I knew he could and would be, Christopher only smiled as if he were humoring Father. He was much more a delight to be around than Joel, who seemed to always scowl, even though he was a baby. The only time he seemed to light up was when we were engaging in something musical, or when Granny was around. He was so quiet. Christopher and I would talk for hours. Joel would simply stare. But I loved Joel, dearly. He was my brother, and he was terrified of Father. Perhaps, that was why he was so quiet.

Papa was there all day, and Father complained that he was spending too much time away from the office. But I don't really think he minded. I didn't like the way he ignored Mother, and concentrated on Granny. Mother didn't like it either. When I watched Granny and Papa, I saw happiness, and a lot of things I never understood. I could tell they were happy in each other's presence. Granny herself began decorating the house as she chattered happily how she would like at least three more children. She wanted a girl, but if she had another boy that would be fine too. I saw Father's eyes light up. "I wanted a daughter too," he said bitterly, "but instead I got a son," he said, glaring at Mother, who was tending to Joel. Granny laughed at him, and picked me up. "You have two wonderful sons, Malcolm," she said. "You should be grateful, they are very bright boys," she said. He glared at me, "Put my son down. He's too old to be carried like a baby. One day he's going to run my empire. I won't have a weak son," he said and walked off. It was as if Joel didn't exist to Father. Granny set me on my feet immediately looking embarrassed. It was a wonderful day. Christopher's birthday brought about all kinds of neighbors. I had seen more people that day than I could ever remembering seeing in my entire life. We played games, and being the oldest child there, I won every single one. I laughed, and clapped my hands eagerly. It was the only day; I could remember when I wasn't looking over my shoulder to see if Father was going to discipline me again, for some trivial thing. Something, unmanly I was most likely doing. I was always doing something wrong, when it came to Father. I wished he would tell me before I did it wrong, so I wouldn't do it wrong. I frowned, thinking this. And there was Father staring at Granny who was in a potato sack, playing the potato sack race. She was winning, but I don't think that mattered to Father. He was looking at her with a small smile on his face. It was a queer smile, one I had never seen before. I wanted to kick Father, but I didn't dare. The memory of that whipping, still etched in my brain. The physical scars had not yet healed. No one knew there were scars, not even Mother.

Soon, oh too, soon Joel, Christopher and I were put to bed. I looked around my room which wasn't done in baby colors like Joel's room. And it wasn't magnificent like the room Christopher shared with his parents. Something else that was different in my parents and grandparents marriage. Mother had a room in the same wing as we did, but Christopher slept in the little baby swan bed, and both of his parents slept on the bigger bed. Father's room was in another wing. There couldn't have been two different marriages than my parents and grandparents. We slept in the East Wing of the house. Our house was more than a house it was a mansion. On all four sides of the house were wings, and they all had zillions of rooms. They all came out at the top of the stairs which led down into our ballroom; above the wings was our attic, which was where Father's private tutor taught my studies. There were two ways to get there. One was through the end of the hall in the North Wing, was a room with cherubs on the wall, and it had double beds and a pretty Oriental rug. There's a door that opens to a staircase that reaches the attic.

Mother never goes up that way, she's claustrophobic. But I like the secret feeling it gives me. Mother once told me about it. "I'll never lock you up anywhere, my darling, Mal," she told me. "When I was a child, my father would punish me, and it was one of his favorite punishments, darling, he used to lock me in a closet," I had been horrified. "Did he hurt you, Mother?" I asked her, she just smiled and stroked my cheek. Someday, Father was going to hurt ten times worse than I did. I would never go into business with him that would show him. Let Joel have it, let Christopher have it, I didn't want it. I smiled to myself that would be a start. A Foxworth who didn't want to be a Foxworth, who didn't care for the Foxworth business and all the money and prestige the came with it. Yes, I might have the Foxworth looks, but I didn't care for the power that came with it. I would carve my own destiny, I would be my own person, and Father would never be able to take credit for it.

When I awoke the next day, I went to find Granny. I knocked on the door. "Granny," I called. No answer. Granny never slept this late. "Papa," I called out, and I heard sobbing. I opened the door and peered in a crack. There was Granny on the bed, crying. Oh, what had Father done now! Granny kept crying and I didn't even think what Father would say, I threw my arms around her. "Don't cry, Granny, please. I won't let Father hurt you. Where's Papa?" I asked looking, for him. She held onto my tiny body, and held tightly. She wiped her tears and looked into my face. "Your grandfather would be so proud of you, so very proud. I need you to help me, Mal. Don't hate your father, it isn't right, and it isn't natural. Promise me you won't hate him, that you'll understand that he loves you too. He just doesn't know how to love little boys, even when they are as special as you are. You are special Mal. Promise you will never forget your grandfather. He loved you so. I want to give you something, Mal, to remember him always," she said, and I noticed how, red her pretty blue eyes were. I noticed, too, how limp her hair was. It had always been so pretty, and now it hung it matted strands. She got up and got a picture of him. It was taken with Joel, Christopher, and I around him. I remembered when it was taken. Papa had laughed. "A picture of me and my boys," he had said. She also gave him his watch. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong, I was so sure. It made fear spring to my heart, as I repeated, "Where's Papa?" I watched as her beautiful eyes filled with tears.

I had to go upstairs to the attic and continue my studies. Joel came up with me, for I hated being with that mean old man alone. He had been Father's teacher and had taught him how to be so mean. Would he do the same to me? I wondered. Was this the man who had made my father what he was today? That horrible man who hated dreams. Who hated me. Had he made my father the successful man he was today? If he was the reason Father was so mean, I hated him too. I think he sensed that about me. He hit me hand with the ruler, and it hurt, but only for a moment. Father had done much worse to me. I was excelling at my studies, and I concentrated on them harder. I would do better than Father had ever done, I though angrily. I was already years ahead of my age in reading and writing, I saw that from the nods of approval from that smelly old man. He had told my father; of course I had heard him. And the stupid man took all the credit, while Father wanted to believe it was his good genes. What was he talking about? Jeans were pants. Stupid, Father. I asked the professor what genes were and he explained about chromosomes. Soon he bored me with his too long explanations.

Granny seemed to spend more and more time in her room, lately. Mother had come to me and told me and Joel what had happened to Papa. "Mal, Joel, my darlings," she had said. "What's wrong?" I had asked immediately. "Your grandfather had a heart attack, he's died," she said. She looked into Joel's small face and as she and I watched, dust must have been floating around for he started coughing and crying at the same time. I felt numb as she explained, "He's gone to be with God, he's called him to him. He's going to take care of him so that he'll never be tired or sick or hungry again," she said, and Joel seemed mesmerized by those words. "He won't like it without Granny," I told Mother. Mother smiled, humoring me. I glared at her, "Granny wants to go too," I said, and she shook her head sadly. "God took your grandfather because he's lived a good long life. Alicia is still young. She has her whole life ahead of her, while your grandfather has lived a long life," she said, softly. "I'm going to miss him too, but God needs him more. God wants to make him happy, because he's made God proud," she said. "He's gone to Heaven, to God's garden," she said, and Joel sat there with a tiny smile on his pale face.

Three months later, Mother and Granny came into the nursery while I was on the floor reading out loud to the two boys I thought of as my siblings. "And so," I said reading, "Hansel and Gretel …..." I stopped when I noticed Mother and Granny. Joel wasn't paying any attention, as he hadn't been paying attention to me either. He was on his hands and knees playing with cars and trucks, "Beep, Beep," he called. "I'm going to run ya over Mal. I am, I am," he stated. I didn't move, but instead looked up at Mother. Christopher was sucking his thumb looking up at us, and _he _was listening to me. "We have something to tell you," Mother began looking at Granny. Granny was hovering behind Mother on the verge of tears. I wondered what was going on. Granny had been sad a lot lately. I hoped she would be happy soon. "May I tell them, please?" she asked my mother. I wondered what she had to tell us, but I knew I wouldn't have to wait long. "No," Mother said sharply, "I am in charge here." I rolled my eyes; Mother was always in charge, what else was new? Granny sat down in the rocking chair, and held out her arms. I jumped up in her lap, and Christopher and Joel followed suit. She put her thin arms around us, and rained kisses on our faces. Christopher pressed his face to her breasts, as she rained kisses on our faces. I held onto her soft hands. She had very soft hands, they seemed so tiny. So much smaller than Father's hands. Mother's too. She had long white nails, that she painted different colors. Why I should look at her nails, while tears rained down her satin cheeks, I'll never know. Maybe it was because they were so pretty; Mother never had such pretty hands.

"Alicia is going to leave us," Mother said. I turned to stare at Mother. What had she said, I wondered, feeling Granny clutch my back, pressing me closer to her. "Alicia is going to leave us," she repeated. Joel was the first to speak, "I don't believe you," he whispered in a small voice. Christopher looked at us and spoke in a smaller voice, "Me too?" he asked staring wide-eyed at Granny. Why? I wondered. Why would she leave? This was her home, and it was Christopher's too. I didn't want either one of them to leave. I loved Granny almost as much as I loved Mother and Christopher too. "Why?" I asked. Mother would know, Mother always knew. "Why. Is she mad at us?" I asked, staring into Granny's face, "Granny, are you mad at us?" he asked her. Christopher was upset and he had buried his face in Granny's breasts sobbing, but I barely noticed. What I did notice when I climbed down from Granny's lap was my brother, putting his hands over his ears and screaming, "Alicia can't leave, she's gonna play piano today. She promised," he stressed. I stood in front of Mother patiently waiting the answer I knew would come. For everything that happened there was always a reason. "WHY?" I screamed at my beloved mother.

She spoke kindly, and softly, "If it were up to me Alicia could stay forever. Mal, your father doesn't want her too," Mother said. I hated Father, why did he do this? Anything or anyone we cared about he sent away. When I was four I had a kitty named Cotton. It chewed on Father's socks, so he sent it away. It was just like that only magnified one thousand times worse. He was a sick man, taking away Alicia and Christopher. This was there home; it was the only home they had. Tears rained down my face like rain on a windowpane. But who notices rain on a windowpane when there were so many more important issues to think of. I screamed out, not caring if Father were listening, not caring if he heard. "I HATE HIM, I HATE HIM! HE NEVER LETS US HAVE ANYTHING WE WANT," I said beginning to cry, with pain and also with rage at my father. I hated looking like him. I wished I could cut off my hair and poke out my eyes, so I would never resemble my father. How I hated to look into a mirror and see my father's eyes staring back at me. I hated seeing his face staring back at me. Joel was so hysterical he began coughing. I tried to calm down, for Joel I had to be strong and pretend like I didn't care if Granny came or went, or if I never saw her again. "Please," Joel choked, between coughs, "Can't we go with her." Mother looked horrified and I knew what she was going to say before the answer left her lips. "What about Christopher?" I asked. If Granny was going would I loose my best friend too? Mother answered but I didn't hear her answer, I knew she said he would stay, but I didn't listen to the rest, I just looked up at Granny and Christopher. "I'm not coming with you," he cried. I was touched, and I felt bad for him, and even worse I felt that maybe I caused it, wishing to have his parents. Now his father was dead and his mother was leaving him here with us. "Olivia is going to take good care of you," Granny told her son. I glared at her. She was leaving me, I loved her. How could she leave me? Couldn't she reason with Father? If anyone could, it was her. She turned to me, "I know you are angry and hurt, but always remember I'll always love you," she turned to my brother and scooped him into her arms. "You'll always be in my heart, in my heart I'll always be with you. Listening to the wonderful music you make, watching out for you, watching the wonderful drawings you make, and protecting you from….," she didn't finish, but she didn't have to. She would protect us from Father. I frowned. "Only angels watch over people. And Angels are dead, I don't want you to die," I said, before she hugged me close too. I turned around and ran to my room, throwing myself on my bed and sobbing, I heard her say she would be kissing me in my dreams, when I was running. That was all she would be a dream. No wonder father hated dreams so much. Dreams that were made of such airy fabric. Dreams that faded away when reality came crashing down chasing away all the magic from life. Fairies, Ghosts, and Spirits that made life magical all disappeared leaving only death and now loss. How much more loss would I experience? How could I keep believing when I only kept losing? I wondered who else I would loose before I was grown. I didn't want dreams; I didn't want promises that disappeared at my feet. I knew that living here, in this mansion, that money came first. Since the beginning of time money was the reason to do almost anything. People stole for money, and they killed for it. Money meant more to father than we did. Although we could roam the world as we pleased we were all prisoners of something. Mother, Joel, and I were prisoners of Father. And Father was a prisoner of greed. Money meant more to father than we did. At the end of the rainbow was the pot of gold, but rainbows were made of faint and fine gossamer silk and gold weighed a ton, and since the beginning of time gold was the reason to do almost anything. Men had died for it, Father had told me the old lore legends of Foxworths of how they made their fortunes, and they always made their fortunes. Foxworths had fought in every major battle and had made their fortunes on them. Some had been blockaders; some had run off with the Confederate gold. They had all stolen and killed for money, they had conned those less intelligent than themselves. And if a Foxworth had a conscience, he had never heard of it.

Hope blossomed in the youth and underneath all the hate and fear he felt for his father, he wanted his father to accept him as he was. He was a musically gifted little boy, as was his brother. He wanted praise, he wanted to hear his father praise him as a son, as he had heard Grandpa praise Christopher.

Alicia was gone, and Mother had decided I would begin a public school, I had sat in wonder as Mother described it. Finally, I had been allowed at the adult table, to listen to adult conversations. While both Christopher and Joel were fed separately, and I worked on my studies without distraction.


End file.
